


The fox that runs with wolf

by Raven_is_blue



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Derek Hale & Sheriff Stilinski Friendship, Derek Hale Deserves Nice Things, Full Shift Werewolves, Gen, Hellhound Jordan Parrish, Human Alpha Stiles Stilinski, Kanima Jackson Whittemore, Kira Yukimura & Jackson Whittemore Friendship, Kitsune Kira Yukimura, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Pack Building, Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-02-23 11:55:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23211106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raven_is_blue/pseuds/Raven_is_blue
Summary: "For Derek, everything started with a fox."At the edge of the forest, a fox waits for him. Every day, unusual friendship flourishes and changes. What will happen?Derek doesn't have time to think about it because Stiles asks him to train three people - Kira, Jackson, and Jordan. Will Derek become part of their pack?
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 8
Kudos: 251





	The fox that runs with wolf

**Author's Note:**

> Big, huge thanks to Maja, who believes in me more than anyone in the world. Thank you, Akashne!  
> Many gratitude to whateverrrrwhatever and TwistedAmusement13 for words of encouragement and sincere enthusiasm for this fic.  
> And Grace ... my god, without you it would be just words, maybe nice, but only words. Your editing is dreamy! Thank you!  
> Cover was drawn by wonderful Dark London (https://mobile.twitter.com/DarkLondonArt). Thank you!

For Derek, everything started with a fox.

It really started much earlier. Even before the fire, when Derek was still young and naive and believed in love. When Kate was still Katie, her long hair tangled around his wrist, her hands gentle on his skin, when love was easy and full of laughter. When he was only a child, instead of a survivor. Perhaps even earlier, with Paige and her cello. When music danced around them and Derek was still too young and his heart was not yet broken. 

Or perhaps it started later, when the fire took his family, devouring his hopes and future. When they ran. When they hid. When they mourned. 

Perhaps not even then.

It probably started when Derek decided to come back to Beacon Hills, to leave his little pack and his Alpha in New York and go back to a town full of memories. 

Maybe it started then. 

But for Derek, for Derek, it started with a fox. 

They fought. 

"You can't go back there! You will be alone in that... hellhole!" Laura shouted. "I can't let you. What if they... what if I lose you too?" 

Their pack is so small, fragile, vulnerable with an Alpha too young, with Betas both broken and damaged. Derek knew that he should stay, heal and help heal, but Beacon Hills sang in his veins, calling him mercilessly, incessantly.

But Derek was, _is_ a Hale, and Beacon Hills had been Hale territory for longer than the city itself. These woods with their spirits and whispers, with ghosts of past packs and lone wolves, with paths hidden under the leaves and fog. With forest spirits dancing in the full moon, running with the pack for eternity, waiting for the lost wolves.

And Peter... he had vanished for two days and when he came back, he grabbed the back of Derek's neck and squeezed it assuringly. "Be safe, nephew." His voice was harsh from disuse, but clear with understanding.

But Derek is a Hale and Beacon Hills calls to him, luring his wolf with promises of wholeness, silencing fears with howls full of hope and echoes of a future that no longer burned. 

The house is gorgeous. 

Derek had no idea that something that in pictures looked like haphazardly tossed stones and dark wood with a side of glass panels, in reality, could be so breathtaking. 

And, maybe, somewhere between the Victorian mansions and cookie-cutter houses that peppered the streets of Beacon Hills, it would stick out like a sore thumb. But here, on the verge of the preserve, just a hair away from trees, it was simply gorgeous. 

Grey stones, skillfully accented with dark wood, perfectly blended in succulent greens and warm browns. Cold cerulean blue shone in windows transforming glass into crystals and diamonds. 

The sudden sound of a car engine broke his reverie and, for a second, he was embarrassed - such poetic musings about a house. But, nobody could hear him, so he could wax poetic about anything he wanted. 

"Mr. Hale?" This tall woman with her light brown hair and carefully hidden energy was strangely familiar to Derek. "Natalie Martin? We have an appointment?"

Natalie Martin. He remembered now, her mother-in-law was a Banshee and Talia often hoped that Natalie's daughter would inherit this gift. The Martins were one of the most prominent families in Beacon Hills. They had money, blood and respect - and wine, he remembered a lot of wine. Natalie had no idea about the supernatural, but she knew everything about society. 

"Yes. Nice to see you again, Natalie. I was just looking at the house." She winced and for a moment he was afraid he mixed up the addresses. "This is where we are supposed to meet, I hope?"

"Oh. Yes, yes. I just... This house is..." She hesitated again, so he finished for her.: 

"Expensive."

"Haunted."

She beckoned for him to follow and they went into the house. Derek wanted to stop for a moment and let his eyes feast on the high ceiling, smooth hardwood floors, and strangely warm interior, but she walked fast and with purpose. Moments later he stood in the... space. It wasn't a room. It was a space. Three of the room’s walls were pure glass with a massive french door opening into the woods. 

He looked again. No, not into the woods, into an overgrown backyard, fenced with small bushes and something that looked like a briar patch. But so close to people? Humans? He couldn't believe that the briar patch could be here. But behind the fence was a forest. Lush, inviting, waiting. Derek stood in the middle of this bright area and his fingers twitched. 

"This house," Natalie's voice was sharp, but even, and he turned towards her, "was a wedding gift. Theresa designed it for her wife. No, I need to start again. A lot of us, we knew that fire wasn't an accident. I think that some of us knew why your family was targeted. But we couldn't do anything, who would believe us?"

What? 

Did they know? Paige said that she knew about him. Kate knew. Maybe their secret wasn't as well-kept as they hoped. Natalie saw that he was upset and she added in a rushed whisper, "We have no evidence."

He understood. 

"You said that the house is haunted?" Derek tried to get back on topic. 

"Yes. After the fire, many people just ran. Without the Hales, they didn't feel safe anymore. But with Theresa and May... it was different. One day they were here, helping, working, living and the next, they were gone. Cars were still in the garage, fridge full of food. No bodies were found, no trace, just this empty house. Rumors started that May has gone crazy and killed Theresa. Then she ran into the forest and died." 

Natalie was looking into the tree line, like she could see what happened here, as if she could see May running into the trees, driven mad after she killed her wife. Laura would know how to comfort her. Peter would be asking the right questions. Derek just stood there confused and overwhelmed. 

"We rented this house a few times after that. It's not a very big city, we don't have a lot of properties available, you know. But nobody could live here. People were hearing voices. A... presence was making them unwelcome and unwanted. They said they were going mad here."

Ghosts and spirits. Derek turned around again and gazed at the woods. The forest was waiting. 

"I'll take it." 

Derek didn't hear any voices. 

Maybe it was because he was a silent creature himself. Maybe because he knows, learned the hard way, that words are a weapon, carefully fitted to strip defenses, to slip under the skin, to hook and twist and reshape. He taught himself to rely on scents and chemosignals, to read gestures and movements. Maybe whatever ghosts there were knew he wouldn’t listen. 

But there was something wrong with the forest, something that unnerved him and his wolf deeply. Sometimes, he shifted into his fur and watched the woods with his lupine eyes. Shadows that were too long, leaves too still in the evening breeze, quiet whispers that hung in the air like fog. Once he was so mesmerized by the forest’s mystery that he walked into the briar patch and stuck his nose on the thorns. After that, he paid more attention, trying not to get caught in the siren song of the woods. But it wasn't easy. The forest tempted him with its secrets and serene calmness. 

One morning he looked over his mug and saw the fox. 

For a moment, Derek was sure that it was a hallucination. No fox ever sat so still with eyes so solemn and old. 

Russet colored fur, dark brown, almost black socks of its forelegs and tips of the too motionless ears, splashes of snow-white fur framing its jaw and perfectly triangle of white on the tip of its tail. An ordinary fox. 

And yet.

Larger than most foxes. Somehow more lanky, more lissome, more dangerous. Its eyes golden and focused rendered Derek vulnerable and, strangely, his fingers itched to be immersed in that silken fur. He blinked and the fox blinked back. And with one quick jump, the fox vanished into the trees. 

But the fox was back the next day, and the day after that, and the day after that as well. Sometimes all Derek saw was splashes of rust and russet hidden within greens, light brown - almost golden - eyes shone between leaves, white fur among branches. And other times the fox was there - like a figurine, still, patient, vigil. 

And, somehow, the fox, the forest, the house became parts of his life, sliding into slots that he had no idea existed. 

"Can a fox be pack?" He asked Peter one day, carefully feigning nonchalance and disinterest. 

"My, my, my, dear nephew, did you find yourself a pet?" 

"Peter!" Derek let himself growl at the playful tone of his uncle's voice.

"Animals can be pack, it happens, but they cannot form and feel real packbonds. There is always something lacking. Tell me more about your fox." 

"I'm not sure what it is. It might not even be a fox." 

He had a routine now. 

It was astounding that after all these years, after all that had happened, he found calm here. In this forsaken town. In the one place in the world where memories were burned into him and the ghostly voices whispered into his ears. But he found something. Not peace per se, but he settled enough to set a routine. 

He drank his morning coffee sitting on the steps of his back porch. Not really observing the forest, just sitting and being. Letting himself absorb the silent recognition, this warm welcome that enveloped him every day. Hearing trills and coos of birds, a bustling family of squirrels in the upper branches of black oak, oh so brave and so daring to live alongside a werewolf. Distant voices of his human neighbors starting their day. 

Sometimes his eyes roved on the trees just for a second, not exactly searching for russets and amber browns, but he couldn’t lie to himself, he wanted to see his fox. 

Derek put the empty mug aside and, with the last glance over the forest, stood up. Time to go. 

When he ran as a wolf it was wild, feral, primal almost with the thunder of his heart, with the rage of his blood, silent thuds of his paws on the ground, on the earth, within leaves and grass, with wind's ferocious caresses tangling his fur. 

When he runs as a human it's a calculated rhythm, learned, tamed, trained. The steady crescendo of his heart, blood lazily flowing, two feet instead of four paws, harder, slower, asphalt instead of dirt, a civilized animal caged into smiles and hand waves. 

And as he ran along the road, a steady, slow jog, a small almost smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he waved to Mrs. Miller trying to fit all her children and their friends into her SUV. It seemed like the more kids got into the car, the more little monsters were running around laughing and being menaces. With last one sigh, Elena shepherded the last strays into the car and with a tired smile nodded to Derek. 

He liked her. She was the first one to welcome him to the neighborhood, and though she rarely tried to talk with him, she was always polite. 

Just a few steps later was punishment for all his previous lives. Mrs. Ortez. Derek was sure that she was not the nice old lady she pretended to be. Oh, no. She was an ancient, immortal being sent to this world to punish foolish little wolves like Derek, to torment them with salacious smiles and terrible, horrible puns. 

"Shake them buns, babe!" 

Punishment. That had to be it.

At moments like this, he hated his body. He knew, he understood that it was nothing personal, that she shouted these things at every single male foolish enough to pass by her yard, in some kind of revenge for her younger days, maybe as vengeance for all women harassed on the streets, but he hated what it meant to him. 

"Such a pretty boy," Kate whispered when he handed her his essay. His cheeks reddened and she smiled, perplexed. He thought back then that she had no idea he could hear her, that she didn’t know what he was. 

"Such a pretty boy," Kate whispered into his skin weeks later when they fucked in her apartment, in her bed, when he thought that she loved him and he loved her. When he told her about the new moon and family dinner.

"Such a pretty boy," Kate laughed when he called her to grieve after his family burned in his home, after funerals and still feeling the smell of burning flesh around him. "Such a pretty, stupid boy," she said when she thanked him. "I couldn't have done this without you. Good boy!" She laughed and he hated it.

Pretty boy.

He was ashamed of his guilt, and of his looks, his face, all of it. He tried his damnedest to change. Eating too much, hoping to get fat. Starving himself, hoping to become skeletal. Picking fights, hoping to lose an eye or limb or acquire disfiguring scars. 

But his body failed him. It healed him, preserved his muscles, saved his sight and limbs, and kept him looking like such a pretty boy. He hated Mrs. Ortez. He hated himself. He hated his body the most. 

He forced a smile and terse "good day" and counted his steps. Just a few more, just a few more steps and he would be safe. 

"You ok, son?" The Sheriff's voice was harsh and hoarse, but also kind and caring as he stepped onto the sidewalk. Derek looked into his pale blue eyes and anchored himself in them. One, two, three. Breathe in. One, two, three. Breathe out. Steadying his shaky voice, he said in a small whisper "I will be." 

The Sheriff watched him for a moment, searching for something, the lie maybe, or a sign that yes, Derek will be ok, maybe just giving him time to gather himself. Then he nodded, adjusted his backpack straps and continued to jog. 

Derek liked running with the Sheriff. His heartbeat was always strong and even, his breath steady and deep, his steps measured and counted. It felt like running with his family, his pack. When he ran with the Sheriff he felt free, wild, he belonged. 

But today Sheriff seemed preoccupied. Like he wanted to say something, but couldn't decide if he should. He said nothing in the end, but when they arrived at Sheriff's house there was a cruiser in Mrs. Ortez's drive and a very stern looking Tara was talking quietly with the elderly woman. 

There was a young man with brown hair waiting for them. 

"Dad! I have something for you and your buddy!" he shouted at them and jogged towards them. "Mister Hale, you need to come inside. For tea and power balls, not that you need more power in your balls, I think that you just sweat that power, but not through balls... oh, my god! I need to shut up, why can't I shut up?"

"Derek, meet my son, Stiles."

"What is Stiles?"

"Me! I'm Stiles and I will be dying from embarrassment in my room now, thank you very much."

And then he herded them into the kitchen.

A little Tupperware container sat on the kitchen table. Inside were seven... 

_“Protein Amazeballs of Power!” shouted Stiles. "They're healthy, delicious, and full of protein. I know they’re not much, but they're a thank you for taking care of my dad."_

They were good, Stiles was right. Fine, they were delicious - chocolatey, not too sweet, full of nuts and... dates? He ate three and felt pleasantly full. The tea was rich and warm, and it felt like being with the pack. It was a nice feeling.

Now Derek was staring at the "Amazeballs", unsure if sharing his food was a good idea. But... he glanced at the fox’s spot. He wanted it to come closer. He wasn’t sure why, but there was something about this fox, something that beckoned to Derek's soul, sung to him. Almost... 

He took out two bowls and laid three balls in the first and four in the second. He hesitated again, for a moment tempted by the aromatic deliciousness. Shaking his head, he took the bowl with four balls and placed it on the fox's side of the fence. 

The fox was a regular now. Sometimes just sitting and watching Derek, sometimes dancing, jumping and yapping joyously, sometimes just sleeping, a little ball of russet fur. Derek wanted to join it. To slip his fingers in its rufous fur, to run with his fox as a wolf. But he needed to befriend this fox first, and nothing says "I like you, like me too" like food. 

An hour later Derek decided to take a little break on the back deck. Then he almost howled in glee. 

On the deck sat the bowl with half of the protein ball. 

The next morning, he found green leaves from a wood garlic plant, carefully arranged under river stones on the back deck. 

"I need the password to the vault," he told the phone.

"Oh, hello to you too, dear nephew! We’re fine, by the way, thank you for asking. Laura is a little nervous, because you never call her, but me? I'm delighted." Peter laughed into the phone. "And what do you need from the vault?"

"Information about foxes." And he told Peter everything about his strange fox. Its stillness. Its cleverness. Little stories about sharing food and small gifts of flowers and leaves and herbs left on his porch. 

"It could be a kitsune, but they don't shift like us..." Peter mused. "This fox of yours, are you sure that it's a shifter?"

"Honestly, I'm not sure of anything."

It was a few days later when Derek's peace was broken by a doorbell. Somehow, he expected to see Stiles, but the Asian girl next to him was a surprise. 

Her kitsune aura befuddled him, she was all thunder and electricity, but she was also as clumsy as a newborn foal or baby giraffe. 

"Kira, Derek, Derek, Kira," said Stiles and then he was sitting in the fox's chair. Because yes, the fox had its own chair and its own bowl, not that it was anyone’s business. "Kira is a kitsune, Derek is a werewolf, now talk." 

"Not this chair. And how do you know about me?" Derek removed Stiles from the chair and waited. 

"OK, everybody knows about the Hales. And when you and your pack moved... we needed protectors. Noshiko is a kitsune and Satomi's friend. You know Satomi, right? Mrs. Yukimura tried, but something happened and the rest is Kira's story."

"I need more, but that’s enough of you, Stiles. What are you, anyway?" asked Derek with a deep frown. 

"Nuh-uh, I will not tell you anything more. We are here for Kira. Please?" Amber-brown eyes stared into his, somehow both very old and very young. The conundrum of Stiles. For now, he let it be. 

"Miss Yukimura, what are you doing here? Your power... you’re so young. You shouldn't have these powers yet."

"My mother, Mr. Hale, is nine hundred years old. She told me about herself only because Stiles here asked her about it." Kira was seething with anger. "I don't want her to teach me." And she added in the quiet whisper, that Derek wouldn't have heard without werewolf hearing, "I don't think she is _zenko_ anymore."

He took her to the garden and they start simple. 

He talks to her for hours, telling stories about _kitsune no yomeiri_ (kitsune wedding) and how faithful and loving kitsune are as wives and mothers. He talks about Ono and his kitsune wife, that she hid her vulpine nature from him, but when the dog attacked her and she shifted, Ono called her and she was back in his arms and life. He talks and talks, and remembers another garden, in the woods, and his sisters and cousins, and stories his father told about wolves. He smiles at her. And when he talks about _yako_ and _nogitsune_ his fox yips and quietly sneaks into the woods. Broken, hurt. He starts to think that he maybe can see the story behind it. 

They meditated for hours and his fox slept near them. 

He and Kira fought about nothing and they danced with swords and he was reminded of long training sessions with his pack. With Lor and Dad, and Mom and Cora sleeping in their wolf form nearby. Derek trained and laughed so loudly, so freely for the first time since Kate. And Kira... she was flailing through everything with both clumsiness and surprising grace. And she became a friend. 

He added Kira to his routine. Run with the Sheriff. Work a little. Train with Kira. Play with the fox. It was so easy to have her in his life. 

"Son, can you stay after our run?", the Sheriff asked one day. "I have something to talk to you about."

There was a very handsome and very frightened boy in the Sheriff's kitchen. Stiles was busy with tea and coffee and bribing Derek with homemade cookies. 

"A few years ago this moron went and asked some lousy alpha for the Bite. Something has gone very wrong and Jackson here became a kanima," Stiles said very calmly and watched Derek's reaction. To say that Derek was surprised was a vast understatement. A living kanima. Most of them were killed before their...

"Master. Who is his Master?" he asks. 

"That would be me." Sheriff laid a steadying hand on Jackson's arm. "Easy boy, we knew that he would ask this."

"First, Jackson's Master was Creepy Matt and he forced Jackson to kill people. When we found out, Gerard Argent killed Matt and tried to become his Master instead, but Dad was first."

Gerard... Derek growled. But he focused on what Stiles was saying. The Sheriff as a kanima's master, there wasn't a better person in the whole world. A steady, calm, honorable, and honest man. With homicide last, if ever, on his mind. The boy had a lot of luck. 

"And you want me to...?"

"We want you to teach him. We know that he’ll probably be a kanima forever, with a slim chance of becoming a wolf, but we want him to be free. To not need a master anymore."

"And you?" Derek asked Jackson, who had been silent the whole time. Silent and afraid. Of rejection? Is it possible he wanted, needed a pack? 

"I... I want it too."

"So we’ll try."

He skyped Peter.

"I haven't seen you too long, my dear," Peter always preferred to talk to Derek's eyebrows and he was quite proficient at it. Call it talent. 

"Yes, Lor is working, you chose good time." he continued. "I assume, sweetheart, that it has something to do with your fox."

Derek's left brow twitched a little.

"Not just a fox, it's more complicated. This pack you're creating. The new member. Tell me, love, you adopted a poodle!" Peter's glee was palpable.

"Kanima."

Peter sobered. "A kanima is a serious matter. Do you want me to come and kill it?"

Derek's brows furrowed and then the left one went slightly up.

"How is it still alive? Let me guess, it has a good master, a man you trust. Do I need to remind you that your job is to trust and mine is to be suspicious?"

Right brow slightly down.

"OK, no killing. For now! I will trust you in this. But I know very little. Kanimas are made when the shift goes wrong. When something is not right in its mind, or perhaps with itsemotions, we really don't know much. The Bite takes, but the bond between human and animal is twisted and therefore the shift is wrong." Peter looked into Derek's eyes. "I know that you know it, but you need to be careful, nephew. You want a bond with the master to be broken and the kanima free, but you need to be prepared to kill it if something happens. Don't! Don't judge me. I'm sure that everything will go beautifully, all rainbows and puppies, but if not... do you want me to come?"

Frown.

"All we know about kanima is in your grandfather's journal. Red leather, with a fox head on the cover."

Derek's eyebrows go up, almost hitting his hairline.

"Yes, I'm soft for you. Always were, you silly child. You can train new wolves, you are the best teacher I know and I knew your grandma, you will try with the kanima and if someone can succeed it's you. But, Derek," Peter's voice was soft and pleading. "Call me and I'll come."

There it is. Right eyebrow up, left perfectly still. Peter really missed their connection.

"Tell your poodle that I will kill it if... Oh, stop with these eyebrows of doom, of course, I worry!"

  
  


Fox was always around. Rarely these days on his side of the fence, rather making a nest on the wicker armchair on the back deck or yipping joyously like he was telling stories and recalling days. Sometimes Derek slipped into his fur and then the fox was overjoyed. Dancing and whining, playing and running circles around the black wolf four times its size. 

One day the fox danced his way to the wicket and back, and to the wicket again and Derek slowly goes after him. Into the woods, where people were vanishing. 

But his fox was with him and he decided that he has no doubts, no questions, and into the woods they run. 

The steady sound of paws hitting the ground, the steady rhythm of fox's heart, the wind caressing his fur and tangling branches of trees. It was bliss. 

There were no voices. There was no threat. Only running and his mate... no, not mate, he let himself into the wolf's mind too much. Too simple, not bothering with anything that is not pack or mate. Fox was a friend. Like Kira. Like Jackson. Or pack. Like Peter. Like Lor. Derek wasn't sure. But this was the first of many, many runs with him. 

Training with Jackson was a nightmare. They fought about everything.

"Useless!" Jackson shouted, when Derek tried to explain to him his family’s triskel mantra. "Stupid! It doesn't work! Stiles tried this before and I almost killed him!" His fists clenched.

Fox jumped from his perch and yipped mournfully trying to pry Jackson's fingers open with his nose. Joints cracked like old, unused doors and finally, like after a whole eternity, Jackson touched the rust-colored forehead. 

"I know. It hasn't worked for me also, but...", Derek was looking for words. "But it worked for some people and it gives you something to think about." 

He’s jealous. His fox! He never touched his fox, never. All these little touches and nips were all the fox's, it was always the fox who initiated all play and runs, it was always the fox who dances away from Derek's fingers or paws. He respected that. He didn't like it, but he respected it. But now he was hurt. It was HIS fox! Not Jackson's. 

Find yourself another one, there’s a whole forest right there. 

"Mine!" He growled, his claws popping out as his ears turned a bright red. "I'm sorry," he said. _"I'm not sorry"_ he thought. But he had no idea what happened. One moment he was telling Jackson about "Alpha, Beta, Omega", and the next he wanted to pry the fox from Jackson's uncertain fingers and run until Jackson was on the other side of the city. 

"I'm sorry." he tries again, hoping for his sanity to return. "Let's talk about the triskelion once more and I’ll try to make it worth your time. For the both of you."

Meditation was not for Jackson. But Derek had no other ideas about how to find out what prevented a full bond between Jackson the human and Jackson the wolf. 

So they tried.

They tried to focus on breathing. Jackson almost got an anxiety attack when he was counting breaths.

"Stiles always makes it look so easy," he complained. "But when I sit here and try to wolf-out, I look like a moron! Sc..." And he was lashing out again, scales on his face, claws glistening with venom, deadly and angry again.

"We need Stiles, then." Derek wasn't sure if it was a good idea, but he wasn’t stupid enough to think that the Sheriff's son was simply a helpless human. What he actually was, what he could be, was another question entirely.

"We don't need Stiles!" Jackson growled, yellow, lizard eyes flashing. "Let's try again!"

It doesn't work.

Derek would’ve loved to have his gramma’s talent. Sometimes he thought that she was clairvoyant with her ability to see through people, see into their very souls. But that was a skill he didn’t have.

Meditation aside, all that left was to fight. So they lashed out into full-fledged war with claws and fangs. They ran circles around each other, blow for blow, blood for blood. And that’s how Derek learned that kanima venom can be a paralytic. Or not. As Jackson chose.

But after a few days of the war, Jackson's mind cleared and calmed. And a few days later they tried meditation again.

And it worked.

There was a rabbit on the porch.

And two fat trout.

And herb bouquet.

But what really went straight to Derek’s heart were three beautiful stones, smoothed by the river’s waters so thoroughly that they shined like mirrors. 

"Oh, come on. Of course, I still like you," he said to the trembling bushes near the briar patch. And just like that, his arms were suddenly full of his singing, longing, fox.

The day when Stiles goaded Jackson with almost no reaction - there were few scales around his clenched jaw, but no claws or fangs, or, best of all, according to Derek, no tail - Derek decided that Jackson should train with Kira.

They hit it off pretty well.

Kira enraptured Jackson with her usual grace of a newborn giraffe and then charmed him with her extraordinary concentration and supernatural coordination as soon as she had the katana in her hands. The lacrosse captain saw the girl's potential almost immediately and quickly adopted her not only for his team but also as a unruly little sister.

"Go, girl," he shouted, throwing her ball after ball and, with almost devious admiration, watched her catch all of them with her net. Then he walked away with her, holding her hand and making sure she didn’t stumble on the wooden stairs, or bump into any of the chairs on the porch, and urgently hovered as he tried to prevent her from burning her tongue on the tea he brewed for her.

Stiles was delighted.

"I didn't believe in you," he confessed to Derek quietly once. "I knew you’d try your best but nothing would change. Sc... an Alpha trained with him for a while, gave up after a few weeks. You know how Jackass can be ..."

Of course he knew. He remembered the temper tantrums and fights over nothing, how moody Jackson could be, how stubborn and persistent he was when something was not going his way.

"Reminds me of my cousin Cavill," he said calmly, surprised that he didn't feel the pain in his heart that used to accompany every memory of his dead pack. But Jackson was very like Cavill - hotheaded, maddening, impulsive.

"And who does Kira remind you of?" Laughed Stiles. "You did it equally well with her."

He looked at him reprovingly. Kira was… she was like Stiles - uncoordinated, yet graceful. 

"Eyebrows of doom!" Judging by the tone of his voice, Stiles didn't seem to care that much.

One day Stiles kissed him. The kiss was hurried, almost timid, though the pressure on his lips was steady and strong. His mouth was chapped, warm, and he smelled of anxiety.

Then he introduced him to the hellhound. Jordan Parrish was one of the sheriff's deputies. A charming blond young man with a child's face. Fascinated by the supernatural he had never known before. Fascinated by Stiles and in love with Lydia, the "goddess" as Stiles called her. Fascinated by Derek and his transformations. He didn’t have to work too hard - military and police training taught Jordan almost everything about patience - but he have to answer a million questions and restrain Hellhound's uncontrollable enthusiasm.

"Does it hurt?" He asked seeing Derek shift into his beta form. "Is that pleasant?" He asked as Derek shook off the wet fur, then laughed as the big black wolf wrapped himself around Stiles' knees and demanded caresses. And sometimes, with extraordinary calmness and seriousness, he and Derek listened to the forest. As if he understood.

As if the forest was speaking to him.

The fox appeared regularly, but only when Derek was alone. Sometimes, Derek thought he saw a red shadow, rustling russet fur, a flash of gold, somewhere out of the corner of his eye, as if the fox were waiting to see if he could come out.

"Like I'm dreaming it," he explained his uncertainty to Peter. "As if it were only a mirage, or a trick of the light."

"This kitsune of yours saw him."

"I'm not sure of anything. And Stiles..."

"Ah, your unfulfilled dream," Peter smiled slightly. "What is the famous Stiles?"

"Everyone is trying to convince me that he is human but ..."

"But your instinct tells you it's too easy. He would be a great wolf, the alpha he already is. Your new pack is interesting. Human alpha, hellhound, kanima, kitsune, fox even. And you, lone wolf."

"Laura is my alpha!" Derek snapped. And yet his wolf whined and curled into self. "Laura is my alpha, Uncle" he repeated, finishing the conversation.

He had a new routine now.

Every other day he ran with the Sheriff, and also every other day he went to dinner at the Stilinski's house. He trained with Jackson, Kira, and Jordan. And Stiles, who couldn’t seem to step aside and leave Derek alone. He almost had no time to himself.

But he always found time for his fox.

His lissome friend always appeared late in the evening, sometimes, as at the beginning of their relationship, sitting motionless, like an enamel statuette, on the edge of the forest. These nights, Derek opened the gate and invited him home. The fox curled up in his armchair, sometimes making a nest among the blankets and pillows, other times just laying next to Derek and quietly yipping about an adventurous day.

There were nights when the overly energetic fox invited him to run through the forest, on four legs, in wolf's fur. They rushed through, dry branches burst under their paws, black wet soil sprayed around them. The forest smelled of greenery and prey, rain and sun. They collapsed together after, panting, amid the plant litter, in the grass, the white belly of the fox gleaming in the moonlight. Full of strange emotions that he did not want and did not dare to name, Derek groomed his friend, licking the brown-red muzzle, gnawing slightly at the ears trembling with curiosity.

There were nights they spent on the porch, staring at the darkening forest, listening to the breath of this sole being on earth.

"I wish you had a human form," Derek once whispered in his red ear.

"A few years ago," Stiles said quietly, when they were having tea on the porch, "there was a rogue alpha in the Beacon Hills. He was looking for your pack, the Hales. We don't know if he wanted to challenge Talia and take over the pack, or just felt that he was getting madder and he wanted to join, to have a pack. We don't know. And now we’ll never know."

A wild alpha bit the teenager. 

"My best friend, Derek. He bit Scott." Did he want to create a new pack, since he didn't get the Hales? Was it an accident? They never found out. Deaton told Scott that there was a chance that he would become human again if he killed the alpha who changed him. Scott believed him. With the help of Stiles and Lydia, he killed the alpha and ... he became the alpha himself. Lycanthropy had no cure.

"And then Nogitsune appeared. As if our problems weren’t enough… You told Kira about them, so you know that they’re chaotic, rather than evil. This one was imprisoned for too long and he went crazy." Stiles seemed lost in thought, his knuckles white while he clenched his hands around the red cup. "So many people died..."

"It's not your fault."

"I know that. But it feels like my fault.” These golden eyes so old, so mature in the face so young. “So long I've tried to understand whose fault it is and why so many of us are guilty. Noshiko, because she imprisoned Nogitsune. Deaton, because he didn't tell me what I was. Scott, because he was a pacifist. I, because I was afraid to tell my father the truth."

"It possessed you."

"I killed so many people. And I know it's not me. Yet, my conscience sometimes doesn't let me sleep."

"What are you doing then?"

"I run with the wolves!" Stiles' laughter was contagious.

Derek stared at the small constellation of moles on Stiles' cheek.

"Vulpecula," he said, gently sketching the shape of a fox. "I didn't sense any werewolves."

"Because there is none," golden eyes shone with joy.

"So you’re running..."

"With a very specific black wolf," Stiles nodded seriously, though a smile still lurked at the corners of his mouth.

"What are you? Don't say only human."

"People like me used to be called wołchw. A son of a man and a dragon, a milk brother to a żmij. Dragons take different shapes apparently, as mine is the fox, but maybe it’s because Void has marked me and I was possessed by Chaos."

Silence fell between them.

"Laura is my alpha. She and Peter are my pack," Derek announced slowly, with a shaky hand touching Stiles' hand. Unsure whether or not he would be rejected now that he was making the conditions.

"I know. When she returns to Beacon Hills, we will decide together."

The silence between them eased, stretched like a lazy cat. Derek thought about all the nights he was running with his fox... with Stiles in the enchanted forest. About all the evenings they spent together. With stones as smooth as mirrors.

"My wolf likes your fox very much."

"My fox... no, not like that. Derek Hale, I love you."

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Hale Fire still happened  
> 2\. Laura took Peter with her and Derek to NY, and he never went crazy in their care  
> 3\. Scott died. Between being lone wolf, lone alpha and Stiles possessed by Chaos, he had no chances.  
> 4\. The forest is Stiles domain. People die there, people who are invited - flourish and live.  
> 5\. Vulpecula is a Fox (in Polish it’s Lisek - little fox) constellation.  
> 6\. Żmij is slavic serpent - dragon.  
> 7\. Wołchw is wizard, but lately is used more as a shaman (not North American shaman, but siberic or Mongolian) 
> 
> There is a fairy tale about a boy and a serpent (viper) that were breastfed by the same woman. The boy and the viper became milk brothers and, when one-day viper got killed, the boy died also.


End file.
